


The Hidden Venus

by islasands



Series: Lambski [41]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Temptation, fidelity, past fucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:50:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islasands/pseuds/islasands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam is going away for a month or so. He wonders if he might be tempted on the road. </p><p>I found this song and loved how it reminded me of stars and planets. You might like to listen while you read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hidden Venus

"The Secret of Life"

  


James Taylor

  


He watched the night climbing up to dispossess the day of its sky. A few stars were already visible. One of them was flickering red, blue and white. He wondered why. He was reminded of his longstanding ambition to own a really good telescope. He remembered a book title he had once seen when he was googling for information on the stars, “ _The Revolutions of the Heavenly Bodies_ ”. It had struck him as a great title for a song. The song would be about the heavenly bodies he had encountered in his life so far. The men he had loved and the men he had laid. Some, not so heavenly. Others, divine.

Some he had orbited like a satellite, helpless in his need for a power of attraction greater than his own. Others had orbited him, for much the same reason. And some, - a very few, or perhaps only one, - had seemed so utterly mysterious and beautiful he was ready to annihilate himself by diving through his haloes of rocks and ice. But he had spun away from him at the last minute, wheeling away to resume his solitary position in space. Just in time. Looking back he could say that. Just in time.

He sighed. He shifted his gaze to another star that was the brightest in the sky. He thought it was Venus, but wasn’t sure. It looked like Venus. It must be Venus; it was so implacably bright and serene. It’s twinkle was as steady as a heartbeat and it was set apart from the other stars. They obviously were further away. He sighed again. He tried to remember the names and positions of all the planets relative to the sun.

Is it possible for me to be tempted, he asked himself?

_I was searching for myself in every assignation, dirty or clean._

_In one man’s flesh I would find the gutter of my heart. I would let emotions run down that gutter as though I didn’t give a fuck where they ended up. Down some drain. Flooding some roadside. I knew perfectly well my feelings were the flotsam and jetsam of insincere self-loathing, sincere self-love. I loved it. Loved picking up some boy who had a dark quest in his eyes and finding a place to fuck that was conducive to spy fucking. Exchanging secrets in public places. Sly, urgent fucking in cubicles and doorways and strange rooms I would never see again._

_And in another man I would find solace. I would find the indecent comfort of bodies knocking together like bones in a sack. The baseline of belonging to humanity. Heaving around in the dark, drinking up someone’s cock like it was an antidote to loneliness. And it was. I’d walk away feeling alive and kicking. I felt great. No one was better than me, and I was better than no one. I loved the smell those liaisons left in my clothing. Smoke and semen. I stunk. I liked stinking._

He made his phone call. The low, guttural voice on the other end of the phone gave a light punch to his solar plexus. He buckled slightly and put his hand there, to stay himself. He carried on looking at the night sky while they talked. He felt calm and a little bored. It was a pleasurable boredom, such as the boredom that occurs when you are passenger in a car, and someone you like is driving, and they’re talking non-stop, and you don’t pay attention. You look out the window and watch the view chopping and changing, or you watch the white lines slipping under the car, and you feel nicely sleepy.

They said goodnight using the endearments that they favoured as a couple. Baby. My love.

_Then there were the lovers who had very nearly been that, been lovers and not random fucks. But he was always searching. He was like one of those questing beasts in fantasy fiction, driven by some arbitrary mission to justify the myth of love. It’s a wonder, looking back, that some dreadfully trite theme music hadn’t played while he practiced his arts of seduction. Actually, come to think of it, it often had! In his flat, waiting for a phone-call. Hah!_

_Well, looking back, they were the least satisfying fucks. He always felt as though he’d pull a Gandalf on the man he was fucking. He’d pull aside his grey cloak to reveal the white. He would be dazzlingly attractive. The man looking up at him would be awestruck. But he never was. None of them were. They were in the same story as he was; that private, essentially dishonest, chasing of the starring role. Hearts and hands and cocks saying “love me” when there was no “me” to love. Well, not one that had legs._

_And then there were the lost fucks, those most excellent fucks when he and his partner were so pragmatically desperate to be ground down into nothing, they would fuck like animals in season. Job on. Rub the shaft to see if it is ready to be harvested. Scythe it with your tongue. Thresh it with your mouth. Then throw me into the mill of anal fucking and let’s be done. Those were good, decent fucks. Making hay while the sun shines. Standing your shots in a line on a bar and knocking them back one by one, - and your cocks  were the last shots. The last shots of the night._

_Then there were the needy fucks. Oh God, they were good too. Nothing beats feeling thirsty. Not for a stage, not for a story, not for comfort, not even for a loving touch. Just to be recognized as being flesh and blood. Just for being recognized as having orifices that needed filling. Of being a boy who isn’t a man. Of being tender and wanting to be bruised. Of being too young to ever grow old or up. Those fucks are irreplaceable. They hurt the most. But a good hurt. Like the good hurt of a minor cut that is bleeding profusely and you suck it and don’t want to staunch it straight away._

It was time to turn in. This was the first day of his month on the road and while he felt up for it he knew how important it was to pace himself. He looked forward to both the work and the play the tour was going to involve. He tucked himself into bed, taking a moment to relish the hotel arrangements. Hotel beds were great. So anonymously perfect. This was true of both run down and expensive establishments. He had fucked in some seedy outfits in his time.

He took one last look out the window at the night sky. It was in full command of the heavens now. Not a trace of daylight remained. And Venus too was hidden. Noting this, he was suddenly sure of something. He liked fucking Sauli the best.

His chest expanded in a manly sigh of happy agreement with this summation.

 


End file.
